


For the Weary Traveler

by floatinginstardust



Category: Fallout New Vegas
Genre: i’m Trying to make a decent first impression, i’m trying my best and so is bonnie ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatinginstardust/pseuds/floatinginstardust
Summary: bonnie’s lived in the desert for nearly her whole life- never a moment where she hadn’t wanted to see the colors of the world around her. but all the beauty and mystery she’s been yearning for all her life took a dark turn- a broken knee can't be that bad, right?





	For the Weary Traveler

“ _Bonnie? Are you awake yet_?”

“ _Don’t go in her room yet, Heidi_!”

“ _Bonnie? Wake up, Bonnie! Stop lying around- there’s a desert to explore! Bonnie!_ ”

“ _ **Wake up!**_ ”

Eyes open. Head on a folded shirt, below that cracked concrete. Nothing but the expanse of desert that had blanketed the world in dust through the night. The sand around was a delicate, unsaturated yellow, dotted with the browns and greens of bushes that managed to sprout and thrive. With the setting sun came the sweeping colors of purple and orange that streaked across the sky. A lone coyote gave one final, pitiful howl before scurrying into its cave.

During this moment in time, I, Bonnie Elosiley, dead to the rest of the world, rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes and forced myself to pack up. I’d passed out on this hill hours ago, from what, I couldn’t remember. The image from the dream of my sister shaking my shoulders in the soft light of morning lingered in my mind once I stood. Usually I would feel a pinprick of some strong, unreadable emotion pierce my heart when this happened. Yet, this time, I urged myself to walk on the road and pay the dream no mind.

Ever since I was young, I’d been a traveler. my mother Maria was walking with a Caravan party with her husband Quinn when she went into labor. The party walked two more years with me, the child before settling near a small town known prior to the war as Eureka. At a young age, I was restless- always climbing or jumping or running through the town- and spoke of other towns made of bright color where beautiful people strolled down the streets, dressed in silk clothing and fancy shoes. Each day held new adventure- unreachable, but new. The glory of the colorful town known as New Vegas never faded, until I was kneeling at it’s edge at the wrong end of a gun.

Thinking of this, I pulled my hood tightly over my head and took a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut. The ragged cloth tickled my hair- or what was left of it. I’d shaved off the rest of my hair when I woke up in Doc Mitchell's house. The peach fuzz did little to cover two fleshy scars on my forehead. At least it was fitting for the rugged leather look I’d settled for before parting with Goodsprings.

I looked out to the highways, twisting like snakes with cracked scales, slithering through the desert. It was hard to imagine roads without their scarred concrete surfaces, with cars rolling up and down every hill like shining black ants scuttling towards their colonies. Standing there, for a moment in time, the world was pink, but the calming scene passed in a second. With night approaching, there was little to do but find a place to take shelter and properly rest.

My hands pressed against the dirt and I pushed myself up from the ground, both feet firmly on the ground. The bag attached to my back was heavier than remembered, but I started taking steps towards the drop of the hill. The moment my weight shifted to my right leg, my knee buckled and pain shot up my hip, sending me tumbling down the hill. In an effort to protect my head I’d managed to tuck in my chin, but my back slammed into a rock at the end of the hill. I let out a sharp shriek of pain, breathing heavily.

The memory of slipping on the sole of my worn shoe returned, falling and smashing my knee against a rock jutting from the hill’s surface. I remembered I’d passed out putting it back into place, just after wrapping it in bandages. I glanced at my hands, still caked in drying blood and dirt.

As I sat at the bottom of the hill, smooth rock arching my back, my morale began to dwindle. Was there a purpose to move on? I was injured, and walking on a shattered knee wouldn’t hold forever. _Hope is pointless now._

“Might as well give up and lay here to die.“

Even as the thought flew out of my mouth, I pushed it away and shook my head. “No.” I told myself. “Don’t you dare. Not tonight.” _Focus on one task at a time_. It was getting dark, the purple of the sun’s painting fading into thick blue, and then into the inky black of night dusted with stars. A gecko scurried across the road, patiently waiting for a companion, who they greeted with joyful chirping. Both were unaware of me sitting all by my lonesome against a boulder. Sighing, I pressed my head against the cold rock and closed my eyes. “Even the geckos have more friends than I do.”

While the bitter feeling of loneliness stung in my veins, there was no time to mourn my lack of company. With help from the rock, I shifted onto my feet and hobbled to the opposite side. My face was twisted in unmistakeable pain, but my eyes settled on a shack not too far off into the distance. No more than a fifteen-minute walk, and I could rest.

So I released the rock, like a child letting go of the loveseat in the living room on stubby legs. My legs were just as shaky, trembling when they took their first step. Each passing thud of my right foot felt like an eternity, but at last, I reached the abandoned shack as the blackness fell over the Mojave.

Night creatures hummed and buzzed in the distance, but inside of the shack, there was nothing but ragged breathing and the sniffling of a despairing woman.

 _You useless, sniveling woman. Pull yourself together and look at me_.

I sank against the wall, knee throbbing and twitching, and a tear rolled down my cheek. I was in so much pain. Once the world had settled into complete darkness, I scrubbed the drying tears from my eyes and shook all of the awful thoughts from my head.

My eyes had adjusted to the night, and I noticed an unlit, half melted candle on a table, next to a lumpy shape of cloth.

Below that was a suitcase, bursting at its opening. I selected a match from its box in my pocket and flicked it across my hand, lighting the candle and setting a peaceful glow to the tiny room. Without a thought, I bent under the table. Struggling for some time with the lock on the box, I managed to break open the box. It’s contents smelled like salted fish, and I gingerly stuck a hand inside. Only air. And a caps stash. I stored it with a sigh, tossing the empty case aside and standing from my position, braced against the table.

The candle’s light settled on something shining under the lumpy shape I’d noted earlier.

Curiosity was too strong, and I rubbed the material between my fingers before pulling it off. The cloth in my hands fell to my feet, limbs stiff with shock.

My mouth was open, but I didn’t mind the stuffy air I was breathing.

Boots.

Leather as dark as night, intricate golden borders, no doubt hand-painted with care. Not a spec of dust or a scuff ran along its edge, and in the dim light I could almost see my shocked expression. The gleam I’d seen earlier was the heel- a sharp silver with the stamp of a rose. I ran my fingers over its surface in awe.

They were beautiful.

A note rested in between their soles, the sturdy soles I’d longed for, and with two fingers I pulled it out and read the cursive ink.

 _For the weary traveler_.

My good leg nearly gave out under me, but I rested my arms firmly on the table and inspected the note. No name, no sign of recognition, just four words. They sank into my chest and shifted the dark feeling lying there. Somehow, I’d managed to find these boots.

Maybe hope was alright after all.


End file.
